Chapter 1 – The Office 

For the last five years I’ve held the chair of Korean History (Early Modern) at my university, which I consider the crowning achievement of my life. I’m the first woman to occupy this particular chair, in a field normally dominated by old men, and at the age of 35, I’m definitely not stopping here. The prospect of what I could accomplish in the future thrills me even more than the achievement itself.

In case it wasn’t obvious, I love my job. I love engrossing my students – Westerners, like me – with the grand narrative of the fall of Goryeo and the rise of the Joseon dynasty to power. I love seeing my name, Isabelle Ranier, paired with the word “professor”. I love that I’m a bit of a misfit: some of my male colleagues are courteous, but you can spot the discomfort and creepy perving of the others from a mile away. I’m young enough to look more like a student than a peer to them, or perhaps one of the secretaries they no doubt coerced into inappropriate sexual relations during their long careers. Let’s not pretend that isn’t a thing, please. But I take it all in good stride: if my presence alone is enough to ruffle some feathers, that means I’m doing a good job.

There’s another perk to my job: for the first time in my life, I get to be the boss in a professional context. Of course I still report to the Dean, but fundamentally, when in class, my word is law, and that’s not just true of my students, but of my teaching assistants as well. On some level, I realise I’m replicating the same tough mentoring I received from older professors when I was a TA myself, and I’m not sure how proud I am of that – but damn it, it’s my turn. I ride my TAs hard, but fairly, and I do have an interest in nurturing their future academic careers.

My brightest TA is undoubtedly Jacqueline. This is her second year working alongside me as part of her PhD. Her research into Lee Song Gye’s military campaigns is quite original, and as a TA she does her job punctually and professionally, assisting with exams, proofreading dissertations, writing the syllabus, consulting with students, etc. As our second year together is now underway, I’ve made it a habit of bringing her with me to every lecture, and leaving the other TAs to carry out more menial tasks. I see this as me taking Jacqueline under my wing, but I suppose it also does mean she has more work on her plate. I also take the smallest pinch of perverse satisfaction in having her walk behind me into class, huffing and puffing as she carries a heavy pile of books. Her seat is a simple chair next to my heavy desk. I make her scurry around the classroom while I toy with my good-luck pen, sit back and revel in my authority: writing on the blackboard, handing out documents to students by hand, doing proctoring rounds during examinations. Still, I’m no sadist – I know her larger workload risks cutting into her research, and I make it a point to be of greater assistance to her own research in the remainder of our work hours. All in all, I thought that was more than adequate payback for her efforts.

As later events would reveal, she didn’t exactly see it that way…

One late afternoon, I walked back to my office carrying a stack of papers. The building was quiet and near-deserted, and I enjoyed the silence and the feeling of having the place nearly to myself. I fumbled a little with the door to my office and walked in – it was deserted too, save for Jacqueline herself. All the other TAs had gone home already, but she’d stayed behind to help me with grading essays, alternating between that and working on her research no doubt. As I walked in, I was reminded of another mild positive of having Jacqueline around: she was very pretty, taller than me, with curly brown hair that fell past her shoulders and a build toned by daily physical training. That day she was in a black jacket and flowing skirt, with black stockings and flats – which she’d taken off under the desk, rubbing her left foot with her hands in mild annoyance. The stockings accentuated her toned legs in a way that was very pleasing to the eye. I realise that wasn’t an entirely appropriate thought, but I had focused on my career to such an extent that my romantic life had suffered. I still felt like I had too much to do to commit to a relationship with a person of any gender, but having a pretty girl by my side for most of the workday was definitely better than nothing. It also reminded me I needed to hit the gym and get into better shape myself, but well, another thought for when my workload would let up. If it ever did.

My wool-gathering distracted me, and I stumbled, sending my papers flying across the room, and my good luck pen rolling under Jacqueline’s desk – close to where I’d hit the ground, actually. On pure instinct, I went for the pen first, which brought me effectively under Jacqueline’s desk. All of this had happened in a blink of an eye and she hadn’t had time to react – in fact, she’d been rolling her chair further into the desk just while I stumbled towards her. Through cosmic bad luck, her shoeless, stockinged right foot had landed straight on my face as I reached for the pen – not hard enough to hurt, mind.

“Are you okay? Do you need help?” Jacqueline shouted from above, then bent down to look under the desk, and noticed her foot was in my face. Thing is, I hadn’t made any effort to move away. All of a sudden my loins were on fire, a tingle trickling down my spine as the room seemed suddenly way hotter than a moment before. I couldn’t move away. I didn’t want to move away. Her foot was soft, her stockings silky, and the warmth against my face was so pleasant – even the barely noticeable tang of sweat smelled almost charming to my nostrils. I didn’t know what madness was possessing me, but I did nothing to inch away from her. In fact, I breathed in and smiled to myself. A part of me was overjoyed, the other horrified – and both were powerless.

“Professor?” I heard her call out to me, but I might as well have been paralysed – I literally could not muster the willpower to slide away from her foot. Only my right eye remained partially uncovered, and through it I saw Jacqueline’s face go from shocked, to perplexed, to curious, and then narrow into a smirk I wasn’t entirely comfortable with. I suddenly remembered this was my TA, what the hell was I thinking? Still unable to find the strength to pull away, I settled for the next best thing, my hand darting to the pen on the floor. She was faster. Her left foot landed on the pen, the heel pressing above it while the ball of the foot pinned my hand to the floor.

“Is this what you were looking for?” She said, rolling the pen away from me and towards her side of the desk. I said nothing, but shot a pleading look at her with my one open eye. I found myself reeling at the shocking speed of my downfall, but more humiliatingly, Jacqueline wasn’t reeling at all. She had a coolness and a presence of mind I totally lacked, and observed the new situation with the keen perception of a predator, while I gaped and fumbled with her foot plastered all over my face. I felt so very stupid at that moment, and for the first time in my life, truly vulnerable.

She thoughtfully started running her foot across my face, slowly and delicately at first, then a bit more firmly. I didn’t realise it right away, but Jacqueline was a genius, and already testing how far she could push me before I reacted, slowly and methodically. Eventually her foot descended enough to leave both my eyes free. Only her toes remained in contact with my face – they were resting over my nose. I couldn’t look away from her. Her face was neutral again, like she was in contemplation. I meekly waited for her to say something, and that again to me felt like an implicit admission that something between us had changed forever, a mutual understanding that she’d insinuated herself inside a vulnerability I didn’t even know existed. I didn’t know how far she intended to take things, but I held little confidence in my ability to stop her. I was afraid that she would well and truly master me. Most fundamentally, I was afraid that I – her direct boss, an older woman with academic status and an already established career – had no say in what our respective stations would be.

When Jacqueline spoke, it was like a knife cutting through the air, even though her question was innocent enough. My heart fluttered. I felt like a supplicant, receiving words from a higher being – mere minutes at her feet and this young girl was already instilling such an inferiority complex in me that my own mind would soon become my ironclad trap.

“Is this a fetish of yours or something?”

For the first time, I found the energy to speak. “Jacqueline, I -“

Her foot shot forward, the ball now pressing tightly against my lips. “Quiet,” she said. “I was thinking aloud, you don’t actually need to answer.”

The humiliation of my own subordinate making me shut up by pressing her foot to my lips coarsed through my body, like a wave of electricity. Humiliation is only a word to most people, but in that moment I experienced it like a physical sensation, a ripple of defeat that started at my lips and ended in my arousal, the feeling of being utterly conquered by another human being who will now proceed to have their way with you. So when my conqueror told me to shut up, I complied. Unbelievable, I know, but I complied, and the thought of disobedience never even crossed my mind. It was scary, how quickly the situation had spiralled out of my control and into hers. I’d never been really into feet before, was I really that desperate for some affection? I couldn’t stand to match her gaze anymore and looked downward, which won an approving chuckle from her as she swung her left foot to join the other on my face. She positioned them against my cheek and then pushed, slowly accompanying me downward until the back of my head hit the floor. Then, her feet landed flat on my face, squashing against my eyes, nose, and lips.

“Stay there.” She said, settling more comfortably into her chair. “I need to think about what this means, and do some more work on my dissertation in the meantime. Don’t move.”

I laid there, breathing slowly, letting it all sink in – how thoroughly I had debased myself before her. This wasn’t even play, she wasn’t actively running her feet across my face or watching my reactions: she’d literally just planted them on my face like I was part of the floor, and kept them there while she worked. Somehow this was even more humiliating than actively being made into a foot bitch. What kind of self-respecting person becomes a footrest for their subordinate on command? Apparently I had to seriously reconsider where I fit in the social hierarchy, if cowing me into subservience was that easy.

I lost track of time. I doubt Jacqueline kept me underfoot for more than an hour, but it seemed much longer to me: my heart was racing in my chest, my mind projecting scenario after scenario of what would happen next. Eventually, she snapped me out of it by exploring my face with her feet, running her toes from my chin to my hair and back.

“I’m done with my dissertation for today. Of course, you’ll be grading student essays this time. I’m going home.” It was early, and it had been months since I’d graded essays myself, but of course I couldn’t stop her. I couldn’t even stand up until she walked out of the office without so much a word of goodbye, like I was a piece of furniture. Which, to a degree, I was. I graded the essays and then made my way home in a haze of arousal, confusion, and fear that made it hard for me to think straight. Unsurprisingly, I got no sleep that night. I fretted and dreaded. What if she reported me for sexual harassment? Could we perhaps find a way to carry out this little game in a more normal and discreet way, without endangering our jobs? Maybe we could go out on a date, get to know each other, watch a movie… and draw clear boundaries between playtime and work. Yes, I would tell her that. As soon as I saw her, I would tell her that.

I got up groggy, but determined, and got to my faculty with a renewed spring in my step. Thankfully, the other TAs had library duties, so I had the office all to myself all day – all I had to do was make myself some coffee, prep course material for class later in the day, and wait for Jacqueline to arrive. I rehearsed my speech in my head about a dozen times, and in the meantime, I waited.

And waited. And waited.

Jacqueline arrived a full two hours later than usual. Not even a word exchanged yet and my plan was already falling apart. She strode in with a level of imperial confidence that made my knees tremble, like she now owned the place – which in a way I suppose she did.

“G-g-good morning,” I stammered. “Jacqueline, I wanted to t-talk…”

“Assume the position,” she cut in distractedly, while rummaging into her purse. My jaw nearly fell to the floor. Had I really underestimated her determination to exploit my weakness by this extent? When she lifted her eyes to look at me, and confidently raised an eyebrow, all my strength, my work ethics, my plans to make this work simply deserted me. I slipped down from the chair on the floor, and from there I slipped under my desk – her desk now, I assumed. I watched her flats and nylons as she stepped around the desk and sat down in my chair, claiming it as her own. Off went the flats, and just like that, her feet were in my face again – one pressed sideways over my forehead, the other resting on my chin. It seemed like it was my fate to be completely subjugated to her.

“So,” she said, softly running her left foot over my hair, as if petting me. “What did you want to talk about?”

I gulped, and then spit it all out for her consideration – the train wreck of loneliness that was my own life, my fear of inappropriateness, the idea that maybe we could work normally and then go out together and keep these little games private – I said all this while she was royally resting her feet over my face, which somehow undercut my presentation. She must have gotten tired of my babbling, because her right foot rose in the air, and then descended firmly on my lips, silencing me.

“Mmmppphh?!”

“Don’t make ridiculous suggestions,” she said with a chuckle. “We can’t date and work together, that wouldn’t be professional and it would make it impossible for us to be objective.” And then, she looked below the desk, her eyes meeting mine with a spark of sadistic amusement in them. “You’re my assistant, after all.”

I stared at her, wide-eyed, as my entire world came crashing down around me. The wave of humiliating pleasure her last words triggered inside me was something words can’t adequately convey. I didn’t even know I had this fantasy, and here she was, fulfilling it in such a spectacular way that my arousal competed with a bizarre feeling of gratitude. Yes, I was actually grateful that she’d just staked her claim to me in the hottest way I could conceive of. That’s when I knew she’d broken me.

“Aren’t you?” She asked, sternly, lifting her foot off my mouth to allow for a reply, her eyes never leaving mine. I didn’t hesitate.

“Yes, boss. I’m your vulnerable assistant. The lowest of the low.”

She flashed me a predatory smile. “That’s a good bitch.” Then her foot descended again, against my throat this time, exerting a delicate pressure that reminded me I wasn’t going anywhere. Was there something more symbolically powerful than her nylon-clad foot pressing against my throat? Like her body weight was the arbiter of whether I got to live or die, and for the former option I would be required to accept her full mastery of me. Her straight shins and strong calves – so much stronger than my own, she’d be able to physically subdue me any time she wanted to – dominated my field of vision as much as her mind dominated my own. That’s when slavery stopped being a concept to me, and became a reality. I was seeing her in a new light, a victor’s light. I was nothing. Dirt under her shoe.

She sat straight up in the chair, turning on her laptop to begin her day’s work – but she kept talking, even after breaking eye contact.

“You’ve worked my butt so hard. You have this coming. I plan to use this to my advantage, until you’re utterly defeated.”

“I’ll be subservient, I promise. You’re the total boss of me. I’m your slave.”

Her left foot moved from my forehead to my lips. “Correct. Now show me that you understand your place.”

I showered her foot in kisses, from her heel to her toes, and she arched it to allow me to kiss the top and her ankle. It was like my own body was stretching and yearning so that my lips could softly brush against it in reverence. We spent the rest of the morning like that, with every kiss a new admission of my utter vanquishment. I marveled at the extent of her victory over me. Eventually she made me get up and follow her into class. I thought this section of the day would be more normal, but I was so wrong. My destruction had only barely begun.

Jacqueline walked in class ahead of me, striding proud and confident. I walked behind her, shoeless, with my stockings making soft sounds against the floor – this way she stood taller than me. I huffed and puffed, carrying a heavy pile of books for her, and as she sat behind my desk – now hers, I thought to myself – I took my new place in the chair by the side. The students threw me a few sidelong glances, and some giggled to themselves when Jacqueline said she would be giving the lectures from now on, and to ask “her assistant” if any of the students needed anything.

To my despair, Jacqueline was as good a lecturer as I was, at least – perhaps even better, when factoring for the inexperience. All the grunt work I’d made her do meant she knew the syllabus better than I did. The students adjusted very quickly, and seemed to interact with her better than they ever had with me. That fully cemented my place at work. I did everything without hesitation – passing out papers, writing on the blackboard as directed, helping out students with their work as requested. All the while Jacqueline sat behind the desk with the same revel I once had enjoyed myself. The imagery gave me a knot in my stomach. It was like she’d cast me off my throne, then used me as a set of steps to climb into it herself. She deserved it more than I did. I was loving it.

What followed was a rigorous training regimen that conditioned me to obey Jacqueline’s each and every whim. Two weeks into my abject servitude and I was unrecognisable. My TAs soon became her TAs in all but name, and I truly was placed as the lowest of the low, fetching coffee for them all and letting them assign grunt work to me. They never openly questioned what was going on, but it was obvious that they were only partially comfortable with it, and they never pushed it beyond treating me like a clueless intern. Students referred to Jacqueline as “professor” and called me by my first name, Isabel. I slaved away all day to help Jacqueline with her doctoral dissertation, and I knew that any future research produced by our department would come in her name, with me reduced to a helping footnote – if that. Soon Jacqueline and I had effectively traded all duties, and eventually paychecks as well – I was supposed to kneel as I laid mine down at her feet, and she dropped hers to the floor for me to pick up with my mouth. Even with my male colleagues, whom I had so despised, I was now demure and submissive. Did I have any right to judge them? When given the opportunity, I too had yielded to impropriety with the PhD student I was supposed to supervise. Even worse, I’d let the sexual liaison transcend the life/work divide, until it swallowed work whole. Some of the cannier male professors could smell blood in the water – they couldn’t put their finger on it, but they knew that something was up. More than once, I found myself summarily told to fetch them coffee, and I did. Like a good assistant is supposed to.

One afternoon, I was lying under Jacqueline’s desk with her feet in my face, in what was by now our most common position when working together. I knew she would be leaving soon, with the rest of our workload falling to me, as was only appropriate.

“Tell me, have any of the male professors asked you for a blowjob yet?”

I shook my head faintly, her feet still in position.

“Well, when they do ask you to drop to your knees and suck their cocks, you know what to do.”

This lack of female solidarity destroyed me. She was actively leveraging the patriarchy against me, to bring me further down to heel. Wasn’t I obedient enough already? What need was there of dismantling me this way? And yet in submissive defeat, I nodded. Like countless women assistants before me, I would be demeaned and exploited, a glorified coffee-fetcher that would pair administrative grunt work with sucking cock. Being at the beck and call of men. Utterly put in my place. That it was a woman doing this to me just made it hotter, and more terrible, and hotter.

Jacqueline wasn’t done with me, however.

“But first, you’ll give me a blowjob.”

This didn’t mean what I thought it meant. Her stockinged toes pressed against my lips, while her other foot moved to my throat, where it nestled firmly, keeping me in my place. My lips parted, and to the sound of Jacqueline’s laughter, I did what I would do for the rest of my life: I sucked. And sucked, and sucked, and sucked…Chapter 2 (Bonus) – Valentine’s Day Special 

Isabelle

What comes after the end?

I’m a historian. I’m trained to consider these questions, to see that no process in human life is ever truly complete, but rather seamlessly morphs into the next. There isn’t real closure, or a true, definitive endpoint. Just change.

To be fair, my life after Jacqueline’s victory over me has been an endless routine, one designed to relentlessly batter me down.

In the classroom, students no longer respect me. If I’m lucky, I stay invisible. If I’m not, they look at me like I’m an oddity, a teaching assistant to a professor far younger than me, and a strangely subdued one, to boot.

In the department, I’m now known as “say-yes-Belle”. There isn’t a single senior male professor whose dick I haven’t sucked. I spend more time with coffee in hand than I do books.

In my own office, I’m the lowest of the low. Jacqueline rules the roost, and TAs and PhD students by this point know they can delegate much of their grunt work to me.

They rarely take further liberties. Even as they rotate in and out of their positions, each new TA soon learns to kowtow to Jacqueline, and to treat me like a ditzy intern, but very few can muster the courage to cop a feel, or more.

Still, all of them do boss me around. All of them do know I slave away at Jacqueline’s feet, usually beneath her desk – which used to be mine. And I’m pretty sure rumours are spreading on campus about me sucking a mean cock.

This over-stimulation is driving me crazy, especially because I have no opportunity for relief unless at home, masturbating. My routine is leaving me in an over-sexed haze that’s shutting down my higher mental faculties.

I’m sure that’s precisely the point. Jacqueline has taken away my professional dignity and my salary, but she wants to take away the very thing that makes me a professor – my knowledge, my articulate vocabulary, my assertiveness.

She’s treading my identity into dust, under the soft weight of her nyloned foot, and leaving me as little more than a dumb, perpetually horny office-helper who can’t focus on anything but taking orders.

By and large, she has succeeded: I’m broken. I barely even make a sound, and certainly not in protest. My defeat is complete.

And yet… change is the one constant in all of our lives. And this is why, for the past month, something’s been different.

I feel it every I dress in my modest pantyhose, pencil skirt, and cheap office blouse – I can no longer afford better clothes with my curtailed wage, and Jacqueline likes to make me look like a secretary more than a PA.

There’s a weird… longing inside me. A pang of loneliness.

I started noticing it even more when outside, and that’s when I started to realise what was going on.

Today is Valentine’s Day. And for the past month, I’ve been anticipating and dreading its approach in equal measure.

The sorry state of my romantic life was the chink in my armor that first led to my enslavement. Now, society all around me – restaurants above all – seems keen to remind me that even in my new station in life, I’m still single.

I suck cocks and worship feet on a daily basis, and I let people much younger than me – students! – boss around me like it’s my job. And yet, I’m single.

It’s an odd sort of pain, one soft and yet sharp enough to cut through the haze of my arousal. I feel it all day. I feel it in class, standing demurely with a stack of books in my arms while Jacqueline explains Goryeo military reforms. I look out across the classroom, wondering how many students have a significant other, while I don’t.

I think about it while leaving Director Francis’ office, rubbing my lips to free them of the last residual drops of his sperm.

I daydream about a date as Jacqueline sticks my foot so deep down my throat that my eyes well up with tears, and then proceeds to stay like that for an eternity while grading essays.

If only she didn’t have such a strict policy about not dating her own employees…

But she’s done the next best thing.

I worked up the courage to talk to her last week, and she’s promised she’d set up a date for me. A small reward for the slavish loyalty I’ve shown her in the wake of my demotion.

My surprise will be delivered at the end of the work day, so the hours pass in a blur, even more than they usually do. As I write and grade and fetch and massage, clean and lick and suck, all I think about it is closing time.

Even the bossing from the TAs – especially Audrey’s – can’t really distract me today.

As the last of the straddlers clear the university, I find myself in a deserted department. It occurs to me that it was precisely at closing time that I first found myself at Jacqueline’s feet. Now, I will place myself there voluntarily, awaiting her surprise for me.

It seems only fitting.

As I enter the office, I see all TAs have cleared the office. It’s only Jacqueline and me.

She sits regally at what used to be my desk, and her new status seems to be suiting her. With the extra money and the kinder working hours, her skin is unblemished and smooth, her hair done to perfection, her toned legs crossed to reveal the sexy muscles under the nylons.

I’m the one who looks like the disheveled servant, something of which I’m all too aware.

Jacqueline sits back, her heeled foot bobbing up and down. I stand before her with my hands clasped submissively before me, like a schoolgirl waiting to be scolded.

She’s every inch a professor, every inch a queen.

And I… I’m every inch a slave.

“Kneel.”

It is but one word, and yet it is enough to send a whip of warm arousal lancing through me. I drop so fast that the impact hurts my knees, but I don’t mind. I realise on some level that I’ve thrown away all my normal, adult life for this.

But who needs adult life, when you can have this thrill?

Slowly and deliberately, Jacqueline rises to her feet. She circles the desk, then me, like a predator about to pounce on a helpless prey. I swallow, keeping my eyes fixed on the ground like she’s trained me to, salivating every time her feet enter my field of vision.

“Let’s get you ready for your date,” she says, and darkness descends over me, as I feel my head being pulled backwards.

It’s a blindfold!

I breathe in deep, struggling not to get agitated. I must trust Jacqueline. I must submit. Whatever she has in mind for me, I know it will be my duty to obey.

I hear her fasten the blindfold behind, and then rest the palm of her open hand atop my head, possessively.

“I’m going home,” she says, nonchalantly. “You stay here, your date will be here to collect you shortly.”

Then, Jacqueline presses her hand against the back of my head, pushing me down to all fours. I take it and stay down like a bitch, even as I hear her heeled footsteps retreating into the hallway outside.

I gulp. Surely she’s not pranking me, right? I’m not going to spend the whole evening here, waiting for a date that will not come, right?

I sigh. All I can do is trust her. By this point I have learned that my addiction to this thrill cannot be broken.

So I sit back on my knees, letting the silence of the empty department lull me.

And I wait.

Audrey

This workplace is weird.

Nothing here works the way it’s supposed to. And I smile to myself while sitting at my desk and reviewing my bibliographical notes, as I realise that, you know what? I can roll with it.

It helps that the weirdness is playing right into my hands. It’s Valentine’s Day, and when the department closes later today, I’ll be collecting my reward. I lick my lips in anticipation of what is to come.

From what I’ve heard, Isabelle used to be a hardass, when she was still called Professor Ranier.

I don’t know what she’s done to fuck up this bad, but she must have pissed off someone really powerful, because now, she’s our office gopher. Already was, by the time I got my PhD.

And from the very beginning, I was fine with it. Working for Jacqueline is actually quite pleasant, the department runs smoothly, and with Isabelle doing the grunt work, I can focus on my doctoral dissertation and avoid the endless distractions we PhD students have to deal with today.

I do admit the… explicitness of Jacqueline’s hold over Isabelle is a little troubling to the other TAs, at times. But I just found it so… seductive. Which makes me squirm in eagerness at the prize I’ll be collecting today.

Ok, I’m going to be honest: I know it’s sexual harassment. At best! No matter how I euphemise it in my head, that’s what it is. And no clear-thinking girl in this century should be okay with workplace harassment, no matter the genders of the people involved.

But…

Oh, that word. They say nothing that comes before a but counts for anything. Hell, I’ve said the same myself, many times.

I sit back in my chair, biting the bottom of my pen in thought, and cross one nyloned leg over the other. I look at Isabelle, huffing and puffing – this is her fourth round of coffee fetching, and soon she’ll be bringing a cup to this very desk.

I sigh. Had it been anyone else, maybe my feminist credentials would have counted for something. But Ranier…

No, Isabelle. That’s who she is now.

I failed one of her exams. It was completely unfair, she used to be such a completely arbitrary bitch when she taught her course. I hear it is much better now, with Jacqueline at the helm. That’s all well and good, but I still intend to collect my prize when today’s work is done.

I take a measure of satisfaction in seeing Isabelle scurry around the department like she’s a bottom-feeder. It’s what she deserves. It’s where she belongs.

Does that make me a bad person? Maybe. Probably. But how can you resist temptation in this cursed place?

I swear, last time my fellow PhD student Remi and I were in professor Arthur’s office, there were wet, sloppy sounds coming from beneath the desk. Then there was the time when I discovered Jacqueline carefully concentrating and painting her toenails, while luxuriously resting her feet in Isabelle’s face…

I press my thighs together.

This constant exposure to inappropriate and coercive acts is making me horny. And as she nears Remi’s desk, I can’t help but observe that Isabelle has a very nice figure.

I bite my lower lip.

Even before I went ahead and asked, I knew Jacqueline wouldn’t mind. She’s loaning Isabelle off to so many colleagues at this point, she wouldn’t begrudge me a little foot fun with the bitch, would she?

By the time Isabelle makes her way to my desk, it’s all I can do not to snake a hand down towards my crotch. She looks so… delectable in her cheap skirts and nylons, her eyes downcast, her dark hair splayed out invitingly around her subdued face.

I run my hand across my own reddish locks, letting my green eyes linger on every part of Isabelle’s body that I like. This is so very naughty and disrespectful of me. I know she can feel me ogling, but she’s too well-trained to object.

I really must remember to never piss Jacqueline off.

“Your coffee, ma’am,” Isabelle says, proffering the cup towards me as if making an offering to a Pagan goddess. Then, she places the cup on my desk, and readies to turn away and leave.

Normally, our interaction would end here – but not this time.

This time, I clear my throat.

Isabelle turns towards me, her big eyes wide and scared. Whatever I want from her, it can’t be good, and she knows it.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“You know, Isabelle,” I say, lacing her name with as much condescension as I can. And I know I can make that condescension sound lustful, too. “The only reason I’m here now, as opposed to… before,” I linger on the word, stressing its significance, “is that I graduated later than expected.”

Isabelle gulps, nervously. Had I gotten my PhD in advance, I would have been out of here before her demotion. I can see it in her mortified expression that she knows it, too. I hope it’s crushing her to see the laughter in my green eyes.

“I had to resit your exam so many times,” I say, chuckling. “And now, here I am. Such a lucky coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”

Isabelle’s face trembles, like she’s about to cry, but once again, her training’s too strong for it. She nods, submissively, and whispers something under her breath.

“What did you say?” I tell her, the words stern and cutting. “I didn’t hear you.”

Isabelle cowers before me, as if willing the floor to swallow her up forever. “I said you’re right, ma’am!” She says, her hands clasped together in supplication. “So lucky!”

“Very well,” I say, making it a point of bobbing my heeled foot up and down from beneath the desk, catching Isabelle’s attention.

It must be a Pavlovian reflex at this point, because she wets her lips with her tongue. The sight is almost enough to make me rub my clit then and there.

“My, my, how the mighty have fallen,” I say in a sultry voice.

“Yes, ma’am,” Isabelle says, turning to leave. I don’t stop her, this time. I don’t want to keep her from the duties Jacqueline has no doubt given her.

Man, now I’m really horny. I won’t be able to concentrate on this bibliography, that’s for sure. What I can concentrate on, though…

Is what I’ll be doing with the bitch tonight.

Isabelle

Steps resound behind me.

The realisation jolts me back to awareness. I don’t know how long I’ve been kneeling here in the dimness of the office, but I do know the steps are muffled, or I would have heard them approach from afar.

Whoever is behind me, they’re not wearing any shoes. This merely practical knowledge makes me wet my lips in anticipation, and the thought shames me to my core. The mere thought of feet is enough to get me wet these days.

Is this the date Jacqueline set me up with? If so, why the stealthy approach? Is this an attempt to surprise me? Is this some sapphic friend of hers who’s single and looking to hook up?

Questions flee my mind as a powerful weight slams against my back, throwing me to the floor. I’m all too aware of a warm, soft body pressed against me – a girl’s body, for sure – as our nyloned legs intertwine on the floor.

“Gotcha,” a voice whispers in my ear, low and seductive. The whisper is so low and husky that I can’t place the voice.

Irrespective of the identity of my assailant, I react by instinct, flailing and rolling around to flee myself. The mystery girl tries to wrap her arms and legs around me, but I slip away, rising to my knees.

I still haven’t taken my blindfold off. I feel like a right idiot for being so scared of defying Jacqueline that I’m voluntarily accepting this massive handicap in a fight. Then again, what if the person ambushing me is Jacqueline?

I simply can’t risk it. It’s not like I’m actually in danger anyway – this is clearly a playful set up. I just don’t know to what end.

My mystery opponent grabs my hands with hers, lifting both atop our heads. Well, that’s one confrontation I don’t need my eyes for, as we push energically into one another.

To my horror, however, it seems that my adversary is much stronger than I am. My cheeks redden with humiliation. Jacqueline is stronger than me, too, and obviously so are the men. Am I really so easily manhandled? So easily subdued? Is my weakness physical as well as psychological?

I grunt and strain, trying to use my knees to push forward, but to no avail. In short order I find myself pressed against the floor, my wrists pinned as my legs flail ineffectually.

There is rustling above me. I feel my opponent slowly slither up my body, and the physical contact sends a shiver through my undersexed, overstimulated body.

I’m such a loser slut.

My opponent has tamed me, and I feel her thighs – nyloned, but round, definitely fuller than Jacqueline’s – position themselves on either side of my face. Her knees now pin my arms to the ground, leaving her hands free to roam all over my body.

Her fingers close against one of my nipples, and pinch. Hard.

I try to scream, but immediately she descends on top of my face, luxuriantly resting her pantyhosed crotch over my nose and lips.

“Shhh,” she says, pinching my nipples harder as I shout my muffled screams of pain into her sex. She begins gyrating over my face, rubbing her crotch all over me, marking her territory, claiming me as her own.

It’s such an… animalistic behaviour. It drives me wild. It’s a signifier that she is more, and I am less. Even through the pain and humiliation, I love how silky and soft her thighs feel around my ears, and how warm her pussy is as it presses my lips into submission.

Slowly, gradually, I calm down, letting my conqueror’s hands have their way with me, and I place tiny, demure kisses on her crotch through the pantyhose.

God, I’ve been wanting sexual contact for so long…

And yet, I’m immediately denied. The victor’s pussy retreats from my face, and she sits back up against my chest, squishing my boobs under her weight. I grimace in pain, and having her pressing down on me is slightly constricting my breathing… but I take it like a bitch.

Moments after, her feet lift into the air, landing against my face. The toes rub against my blindfold, while the heels press against my lips.

It never ceases to ashame me how familiar I am with feet now that they’re part of my job description. Naked feet, socked feet, nyloned feet, shoes, and boots: this is my domain. The mere idea that I was once a professor feels sillier to me with every new humiliation.

The girl above me giggles, as her feet explore every nook and cranny of my face. The toes curl over my nose and run through my hair, the sole rests alternatively against my throat and my lips.

“God, this feels even better than I imagined,” the girl says, again in a voice too low for me to place it. I don’t care at this point. I’m so starved for relief and physical contact that I will submit to whatever she wants to do to me.

She begins grinding her soles into my face, squishing my cheeks until my lips pout. It hurts, but it also makes my pussy spasm in humiliating pleasure.

“Life at the office is much better now, isn’t it, slut?”

“Mmmpphh!” I reply, while her heel presses so hard against my lips that I shake my head, trying to make the pain stop. But it’s no use, her feet have full and utter mastery of my face.

“I mean, I’ve tried not to take advantage,” she says, as her toes begin to part my lips “but who can resist? I have a person I can use whenever I want. Power with no accountability.”

The girl shoves the toes in my mouth, and I welcome them like an eager slut, spreading my legs, hoping she’ll take pity on me and give me some attention while I suck.

I crane my neck, taking as much of her foot in my mouth, stretching the corners around its girth in lust. She lifts her other foot and places it on my forehead, pushing down.

That restricts my freedom of movement, but it also lets her facefuck me properly with her foot. My slobbering noises soon fill the room, as her big toe begins to tickle the very entrance to my throat.

I wish I could look up at her, see her smirk as she domesticates my throat as her personal foot-holster. I imagine Jacqueline’s victorious grin instead, and that alone is enough to nearly send me over the edge. I moan and squirm and gargle, while the girl above me balances to stay still, like atop a bucking bronco.

This situation is so absurd I’m almost impressed with myself. I’ve turned into such an office sexpet that I will deepthroat an unknown person’s foot on command if put in the right situation. I’m no independent woman. Jacqueline has changed me. I’ll never go back to the person I was.

I’ll never look to another person like an equal. I’ll never stand up for myself, or enforce any sort of boundaries. I am like a gloryhole given personhood, someone who exists purely for the relief of all others.

No one who licks feet and sucks dick on command for the whole department can confidently claim they deserve to be treated like a person.

As I bob and slobber over the girl’s foot, it occurs to me that this is supposed to be a date. Jacqueline is making me date someone’s feet. The thought makes something inside me curl up and wither away. Who would want to date a girl whose lips worship feet, anyway?

I will never be normal. I’m a wimp, a bitch, a sex slave. Even now, my hands lie limp and useless by my sides while this girl rapes my throat in the office that used to be mine. Jacqueline staking her claim on me was one thing, but this? This subordination of even my dating life to my slutty duties? This is a new high.

Or, I suppose, a new low.

“That’s it,” says the girl sitting atop me, as her foot is now lodged as far in as it will go. I can feel her fingers fumble against my blindfold, and with a sweeping motion, it is removed.

I blink in confusion, tears forming in my eyes, both from the deepthroating and the adjustment to light. It’s dim and veering on dark in the office, but after a prolonged period of time in the pitch black of the blindfold, even this takes a little adjusting to.

As my sight focuses, I’m greeted by the flash of a predatory smile.

Clever green eyes sparkle at me, full of laughter.

A firey red mane frames a youthful face, stretched in an expression of victory and lust.

I try to gasp in surprise, but with the entrance to my throat serving as a foot holster, it comes out as a tiny, pathetic gluk.

Audrey!

“Professor,” the TA says in a sultry voice, the mockery in the title evident by our respective positions. “Or should I call you Say-Yes-Belle?”

Audrey’s hand flashes to my own sex, resting atop it – a gesture of ownership, but also of promise. This, from the student who had to sit my exam more times than I can count. At this point I know, not intellectually but emotionally, just how truly irreversible my enslavement is. My demotion isn’t just professional, or social, in nature. It’s psychological.

I will be chained anywhere, any time. Because I’ll be carrying the chains with me, wherever I go.

Audrey knows it too. I see it in the absolute triumph etched in every corner of her face, as she twists her foot inside my throat, grinning in pleasure at my gagging sounds of submission and discomfort.

Her foot plunged into my throat, she leans forward, increasing the pressure even further, and giving me the sultriest, most seductive look I’ve ever seen.

And then, somewhat absurdly, she asks: “Will you be my valentine?”

Even more absurdly, I close my eyes to chase away the tears, squirm gently to accommodate her foot even better in my mouth… and nod.

“In that case,” she says, keeping her foot inside me while snaking her hand underneath my own pantyhose, “close your eyes, and let me break you.”

I obey, sinking back into a world of darkness, where every other sense is bombarded by Audrey’s assault. No sooner have her fingers found my clit, sending bolts of electricity through me, that I know this is the only date a slavegirl like me could ever deserve.

By lucky coincidence, however…

It’s also the only date I would ever really want.

THE END